Midnight
by Skullbank
Summary: Mrs. Lovett wondered where Sweeney slept at night. Maybe she'd never know.


Midnight

Mrs. Lovett was always dreaming; she dreamed too much to sleep. Especially on this night, when her blankets were cold, and her skin crept with itches under her ruddy crocheted afghan, the one she had never gotten around to finishing. She'd had years of solitude, but she could not bear to loop her yarn again, just for those last few rows.

She had thought too much about Mr. Todd tonight, and her head was pulsating as fast as her heart. She pulled her knees to her chest, smashing her face into her pillow, her breath warming her with the odor of yeast that was ever present, but strongest in her hair. Maybe if she suffocated herself she would finally have some relief…

It did no good. She turned over on her back, twisting, binding herself up in the blankets. But where was Benjamin sleeping? She had mildly, nonchalantly, offered her own four-post bed, with room enough for two. She had even offered him her chaise lounge in the parlor, but he had given her the same dead stare, his features drooping, ready to melt off his face. She assumed it was the most emphatic 'no' he could muster.

_Blink once for 'no,'_ she had thought. _Blink twice…_

She threw off the blankets, jumping out of bed, quickly pulling on her boots and wrapping herself in her faded pink robe. Some nights she would sneak down to the bake house, long after she had given him a good night peck, just to listen to his creaking floorboards and scuffing footsteps. The body chute also carried down sound from the tonsorial parlor, but his stirrings were painfully subtle. The rats made more noise. What exactly was he doing up there?

Tonight there was silence from above. She crept up the stairs to his door, pausing to listen, her ear to the wood. She had her own key, and she opened the door carefully, taking a step into the darkness. His window was hazed by the early morning's smog like a living curtain, caressing the panes, keeping the room as dark as it pleased from moment to moment. The barber's body lay prone on the floor, between the window and his chair. Mrs. Lovett remembered now; she had given him a flask of ale to take up with him. The empty bottle was on the window sill, sitting up respectfully, puzzled by why its master could not do the same.

One out-stretched hand still gripped his razor. She knelt by him to stroke the handle from his fingers, cradling the silver in her own palm for a moment. Then she placed it next to the bottle.

"Oh, Mr. Todd, what to do with you?" she whispered, twisting strands of his hair in her fingers. He was snoring quietly, deep in his throat. She cupped his cold cheek in her own frozen hand, feeling his prickled stubble with her thumb, wondering just how drunk he was. She bent lower, placing her lips under his ear.

"Lucy..?" he replied through a long, dying exhale. Yet his breathing still had the rhythm of sleep. She could not quite remember the sound of Lucy's voice when it was sane, but she imagined it was giddy and helium influenced.

"Benjamin," she answered in his ear, straddling him, a knee on either side of his hips. "I've missed you."

"I'm home, Lucy." He was relaxing; his head lolled to one side, as his eyes, still closed, softened in an internal smile. His breathes deepened.

"Benjamin, after all these years, do you still love me?" It was cheesy, but she had to try. "Show me." She pressed their lips together, grabbing his hair in her fingers, crushing his body beneath hers. Atleast he seemed happy, for the first time since his return. And probably the last. The muscles in Sweeney's arms pulsed in spasms, maybe ravishing Lucy in his dreams. Mrs. Lovett wrapped his arms in hers, taking his desires for her own. They were dreaming together.

She woke to something wet, liquid, splashing her face and dripping down her cheeks, like tears forced upon her. She shot up, gasping; was it morning? Sweeney had opened the shop, receiving customers while she slumbered beneath, the blood streaming and raining down on her-

She nearly screamed, clawing at the blood around her eyes, checking her hands- but it was water. Sweeney stood in the window's light, in the gruesome, polluted sunrise- another bright red day. He was washing his face with a rag, flinging his dripping hand, spraying her.

"Oh, Mr.-" She stared up at him with a look she hoped was wide-eyed and innocent, awaiting a reaction from him. He had none. She stood, wiping away clouds of dust from her robe before approaching him. She felt that apprehension from last night, as though still being careful not to wake him.

"Morning, Mr. Todd." She gave a crooked smile to the couple in the glass pane. "You were dead drunk last night. I came up to see if you were still breathing; I must 'ave dozed off, too."

"Mmm hmm," he agreed, wringing out the rag on the floorboards.

"Are you coming down for breakfast soon? We'll have to be quick about it this morning." She crossed to the door, placed her hand on the knob, hoping for some dialogue, any. "So, did you… sleep well last night?"

"Bad dreams," he said. "They plague me, Mrs. Lovett."

"Bad… dreams?"

"Like something out of hell." He sat in his chair, leaning his head far back. It unnerved her, that he should tempt his instruments so.

"The drink'll do that to you," she sighed. She took her hand off the door and approached his chair from behind. "Tell me, love, aren't you lonely up here at night? If you had someone beside you in the darkness, you might have some comfort. Maybe relieve you of your demons." She touched his shoulder. His eyes had been closed; he opened them now, bloodshot, staring up at her.

"Only I can rid myself of these demons. By my own hand."

"You won't even consider it, Mr. Todd?"

He shut his eyes again, shaking his head. Mrs. Lovett turned to leave.

"I would help you if you'd let me. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes." His tone was empty, dull, appeasing, but it was some response, atleast.

Outside, sellers were already hawking their wares, clanking by in push-carts, ignored by the foot traffic. A family of three came to the stairs just as she was descending them, and she bid them good morning as they passed- a husband, a wife, and their small daughter. As Mrs. Lovett was opening the door to her kitchen, the girl dropped her doll down the steps. Mrs. Lovett turned, watching it slide to a stop at her feet. She picked it up and climbed the stairs to hand it back.

"What do we say?" the mother prompted her girl.

"Thank you, ma'm."

Mrs. Lovett returned the smile, watching the family as they were let in by Sweeney and disappeared into the shop. Her chest felt weak with worry, but she took in a deep breath, forcing her eyes away from the barber's pole.

She had faith in her Mr. Todd.


End file.
